47:Perfection

47: Perfection

It didn't start off this way…This mindless fucking…This. Affair. ..Starfucker relationship. It started off innocently, as he was merely a fan. An appreciator of the music.

Sure, his girlfriend Schizo would tease by calling him a teenager fan girl….lusting after the newest  throb sensation.  Sure, he had posters, but eh didn't swoon at the very images. No, he didn't kiss the posters. There were no shrines, only the CDS, posters, and occasional magazines. It was hardly a collection, much less a shrine.

Nonetheless, if he was truthful to himself, there were moments he found himself dreaming of going to their concerts. Of meeting him. Was he. So…perfect in person? The Technicolor mane, always changing. The ivory complexion, the seamless makeup., Then, oh the costumes. Feathers, stripes, corsets, the heels that were more like stilts.

N, he knew it was all an illusion, the pale skin makeup…A multitude of delusions. He knew. Vampire bands belonged in novels…They just weren't plausible in real life. Or, so he thought.  He realized that perhaps that wasn't the case.~~

He remembered the very moment he was handed the ticket in a box. He remembered the cheeky, wrapping paper. A gaudy metallic with a bow. He remembered the grin on Schizo's face, that sparkle in her eyes, her chipped fingernail polish as she dangled the box in front of him.

~

"Come on lover boy!" Schizo had said, tugging him into the front row. She know to push, shoving, and elbowing her way there. The chatter around him seemed to be a whole different language  A thousand different conversations. And not a one of them relevant.

He was more in tuned with his own heart beat. This was a dream world, a haze. The music pounded around him, his heart in time with. The words were sung in his ear, and he succumbed to them, drowning within. The mournful pangs of the organ, the fast stringing of the violin, the riffs of the two guitars, the undertone of the rhythmic drums. It all swirled around in a tremulous maelstrom.

And the voice was the eye, the centerpiece.
~

To say he felt like he was the only one in the audience would be unbelievably trite…But….there was a half truth to it. He felt the thickness of the crowd around him, nudging him to get closer…But, he felt as if the words were to him. Each snarled ,each velvet ballad. He felt the seduction, the anger, the sorrow…Each provoked to perfection.

He was so easily played.

~

How he ached  when the  instruments deadened, the doll-like members disappeared…and the magic dwindled  to a horrible silence.  He could feel the rush of cold air on his face, the little pieces of show glitter sticking. He was pulled back into the real world, Schizo tugging on his belt loop. " Hey, lover boy,  you got a backstage pass." she cooed into his ear.

How the fuck did she manage that? He thought in shock. It was best not to think on that. She always had her ways, he knew.

~~

The night was still ripe with anticipation, the rapid thudding of his heart told him. He delved through the crowd of lucky devoted fans. A thick incense scent hung about the air. Jasmine, he thought, and something a tad more musky…spicy. He smelt strong liquors, and cigarettes.

A party, this was.  Splendid costumes that were more befitting a masquerade than the backstage after-party of a rock band. He suddenly felt very conscious of his scuffed docs, ratty shirt, and ripped pants. He fiddled around, tugging on his lip ring. "Come on, Paranoia!" Schizo exclaimed with bubbly excitement, tugging him further and further in.

~

The dressing room, he realized, reading the small placard. He ran his fingers over the Braille marks under the plain letters. "Well go in!" she opened the door, then gave a shove.  A light stung his eyes, but that could be his imagination.  Nonetheless, his eyes adjusted painfully to the  sudden brightness.

It struck him that he was in the den of the beast…of the lion. It was an odd comparison to make, but rather apt. If one took in the vocalist's mane of Technicolor, and the fierce kohl rimmed eyes glowing the light overhead.   The smirking of the lipstick coated lips. "Arsenic, who is this?" Jubei, the one, the vocalist asked with all the air of royalty.

"A fan, I gather." The blue eyed, angelic one stated simply with a smile tugging at his lips. He rose, straightening out the Victorian-style maid dress.  "I shall leave you to it." With that he left, leaving him  alone with Schizo…and him…

He was practically trembling, he knew. He could feel the nervous tick, the jittery feeling He didn't know what he could say…he couldn't even fathom even. All he could do was gawk.  He saw so many pictures. Spreads, editorials, shoots, posters..

But..But…, here he was in person. Something..Jubei practically glowed. Something that didn't translate well into pictures.  He was. Beautiful…Almost too beautiful.

"Not my typical groupie" Jubei retorted, a sort of arrogance rolling off that velvet voice. It  almost shattered  the delicate beauty that he held, that sort of gruff arrogance.

"I'll be seeking out Cyanide!" Schizo declared, slapping him on the back. Cyanide? Another member of the band he knew, the one with the Mohawk and tattered faerie wings. He nodded.

"Okay." he gulped, the door shutting behind her with a loud clank.. He heard the clicking of a lighter. The lighting of a cigarette. His eyes lingered on the glow of the cigarette for a moment, not meeting that gaze. He couldn't…it was. So overwhelming. Teen fan girl indeed

Wasn't this what he wanted? "So are you going to me something or vhat?" a brow lifted elegantly. "If not, vhy are you  here?" Jubei demanded, sucking drags off the cigarette as if it were his hookah.

He shifted nervously. "Ummm..Urm.." he stammered out. " To meet you." he finally articulated, outstretching his hands "To uhhhh…..see you:"

"And here I am. Am I everything you hoped I vould be?" he inquired with an air of amusement. Yes, he was amused by all this, Paranoia thought

"You're beautiful…." He blurted out most awkwardly

"Tell me something I don't know" Jubei retorted, still ever so smug. He fluidly lifted himself off the couch, sauntering over to him "I am perfection" he breathed into Paranoia's ear. Before he knew it, lips were pressed against his own. They tasted of tobacco and licorice…of perfection. He was lost in it.